The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection Frost, J (good beach reads .TXT) 📖

Everyone but Daddy giggles. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shoes for this outfit are so ridiculous that I didn’t even unpack them, but seeing the heat in Daddy’s eyes, I pull them out. They’re black, platform Mary Janes because I’m still utterly useless at walking in heels. One of those womanly arts I’ve never mastered that always made me feel like a failure when I was Matthew’s subbie. I love that Daddy never asks me to wear heels, or anything else that makes me uncomfortable.

As I slip the shoes on, there’s another voice at the door. “If your daddy doesn’t fuck you in those shoes, I will.”

“Daisy!” I squeal and launch myself at the woman in the doorway.

She catches me, laughing throatily. “Babe-girl, you look awesome. And edible. Tell me you’re ready to leave your daddy for me.”

Daddy growls but I just giggle, knowing Daisy doesn’t mean it. She’s told me she’ll always be my best-Domme-friend, but she knows I need my daddy more than anything she could give me. She just likes to tease Daddy unmercifully.

She gives me a hard squeeze before she lets me go and Daddy immediately draws me to his side. Remembering my manners this time, I introduce Daisy to Vashi and Aggie. Daisy introduces us to her “flavor of the weekend,” Piper, a curvy, curly brunette hovering in the hallway behind her, whose eyes nearly pop out of her head when she sees my outfit and the stuffies all over the bed and on every other flat surface.

Daisy, with her cinematic eye, poses me in front of the mirror so it reflects the back of my dress. While Daddy and Daisy take pictures, Aggie runs downstairs to see if there’s a black waistcoat for Professor Teddington. She returns, beaming, with a small, brown suitcase full of teddy clothes and we rifle through them with little cries of delight at each adorable outfit—there are dozens, all clearly handmade—did Martyn make these? A black and teal striped waistcoat works best with my outfit and once Professor Teddington’s appropriately attired, I’m back in front of the mirror with him for more pictures.

Daddy finally shoos everyone out so he can draw me into his arms and, angling his head to avoid the brim of my hat, kisses me until I’m tingling from ponytail to toes.

“Do you have something like this for the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party?” he asks when he finally lets me up for a breath.

I nod, panting too hard to form words. That outfit’s still wrapped in plastic in the closet, so the surprise isn’t spoiled.

“Now I understand all the instructions Cynnie sent me. The pair of you are going to be the death of me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on by some silk and lace.” He guides my hand down to his jeans. Ooo, he is very hard. “What can I do to convince you to dress like this all the time?”

I giggle. “It’s for special occasions, Daddy.”

“There are going to be special occasions weekly from now on. I feel like I’m looking at your little’s soul for the first time, baby doll.”

He does? Tears pop into my eyes.

“I’ve been trying to reach this, baby girl, putting you in all those white and pink dresses and here you are.” He winds hot pink and black ribbons between his fingers. “I should have realized I needed to go a little darker. You’re so beautiful, Emmy. Can you see that?”

I nod. I feel beautiful in this. In all of the outfits I’ve bought for this weekend. But mostly I feel beautiful when Daddy looks at me like he is now. “ILY, Daddy.”

“ILY, too, baby girl.” His eyes redden. “I honestly had no idea how emotional I’d feel this weekend, sweetheart, but this is a big deal, isn’t it?”

My own eyes spill. “Yes, Daddy.”

Daddy dips his head and kisses my tears away. “Good tears or bad tears?”

“Best tears, Daddy.” And they are. They’re the best tears I’ve ever cried.

* * *

Once Daddy and I manage to dry up—although it’s still making my heart ache in the most wonderful way to see Daddy so moved—we collect everyone from their rooms. Laurel and Jiro have arrived while I’ve been changing and drowning in feels. After big hugs and mutual admiration and introductions, we walk to the gastropub Martyn recommended. I didn’t find it on any of the travel guides I read, but Martyn says it serves French-Canadian food to locals and when I mention where we’re going Daisy’s “flavor” gets very excited.

“Owen’s has the best poutine,” she enthuses as she leads us down several side streets, through what looks like a very residential neighborhood.

As we walk, I learn that Piper’s a local who Daisy found on a kinky dating app, which is so Daisy. When I ask her if she knows Martyn, she lowers her eyes and blushes.

“I do. We belong to the same dungeon. But he’d never notice me.”

“Why not?” I think she’s worthy of notice. She certainly caught Daisy’s attention.

“He’s only interested in the ones who look like her.” She nods over her shoulder at Laurel, walking a little way behind us with Jiro and talking animatedly to Mistress Maude. Laurel is very elegant, with her proud crest of crimson hair swept back to show the shaved sides of her head, her flowing, white, scaled playsuit, and gladiator sandals.

I tip my head back to look at Daddy, who only dated super-models before me. He grins back at me and squeezes the arm he has around my shoulders. I know he’s glad he took a chance on someone who will never walk a runway, no matter how beautiful I feel in my Victorian fairy outfit.

“Don’t give up,” I tell Piper. “Sometimes it just takes a nudge for a Dom to look outside what he thinks he wants and realize what he’s been missing.”

Piper’s soft brown eyes flick from me to Daddy and back to me. Her mouth rounds in a